


New Constellations

by ghostofbikespast, LemonLivesTheDream



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, But with good reason, College, Corgis, M/M, Mental Illness, Shameless Wish Fulfillment, Slight OOC Bill :V, Slow Burn, This is a brainchild, but then gets better, gets angsty, good shit, heavily inspired by actual events, pfm, pkm, so many corgis, tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4439879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofbikespast/pseuds/ghostofbikespast, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonLivesTheDream/pseuds/LemonLivesTheDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So keep callin' me crazy cause I never learned you should stop loving fire because you got burned<br/>Now it feels like I'm living some sick déjà vu, like the answers were there when I stared into you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initial Infuriating Introduction

“You are NOT going to believe the day I had!”

This was not an uncommon thing to hear burst from her brother’s mouth, but as she heard the poor door to her tiny apartment slam shut and the furious huffing coming from the foyer, it was safe to assume that Dipper was livid.

 

“You alright there, bro bro?” Mabel asked with the slightest hint of concern as she moved the now boiled spaghetti to be strained. Her brother emerged from the hallway, face scrunched in rage and stomach growling loudly.

 

“Let me tell you,” he began his rant, “There’s this absolute prick in my psych class who has some nerve!” He spat, taking his coat off and ruffling his hair after removing his hat.

 

“Wait, psych?” Mabel interrupted, confused, “I thought you were in engineering?”

 

Dipper paused his ranting for a moment to let her know that he would explain that after, and continued where he left off, “This guy! There’s this guy that sits next to me in my psych class, and he has the audacity to cook AND EAT a full meal in a 12 o’clock lecture FULL of starving students! I’m talking an entire god damn rotisserie chicken, Mabes!”

 

 

Mabel was serving two plates of spaghetti as she stopped and looked up. “Shut up, no way!,” she laughed, “You’re pulling my leg.”

 

Dippers face only seemed to scrunch even more as he yelled, “I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND, MABEL! I have 4 hours of studio work in the mornings and no break before my lunch time psych class! I’m practically rabid by the time I get there, as are many other students, and this FUCKASS has no regard!” He shrieked. “HE WON’T EVEN SHARE!”

 

Mabel just squinted at him, “What do you mean, ‘4 hours of studio work,’ that doesn’t make any sense…” Dipper froze and his sneer turned into the slightest embarrassed frown.

 

“Actually, uh, I may or may not have switched faculties…” He mumbled while rubbing the back of his neck and moving to sit down at her kitchen table.

 

Mabel paused and stared at him with an unreadable expression as a long silence stretched between the two in the tiny apartment. Dipper took the silence as a prompt to further explain, softly clearing his throat and organizing his next words.

 

“So, I kinda maybe failed a few of my engineering midterms...most of my midterms…okay all of my midterms…” He trailed off as his sister’s expression grew more horrified. “Anyways, I talked to a guidance counselor and we went through my strengths and weaknesses and whatever—it was a ridiculously long process, by the way—and she said that I should play the Sousaphone,” Mabel gave him a look of disgust, “OR...switch into the Faculty of Fine Arts.”

 

His sister still looked at him as if he had lobsters crawling out of his nostrils, but she seemed to have understood him at least.

 

“Like, majoring in...Sousaphone?” She asked carefully.

 

“Wait, what? No! Like art art. Painting. Drawing. Sculpting. The whole shebang.” he clarified.

 

“Well that sounds pretty cool! And as long as you’re happy, I guess that’s what matters.” Mabel said as she continued dishing out dinner. “Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”

 

Dipper blanched, staring down at his pasta forlornly. “No...not yet. I don’t exactly know how to break it to them”

 

Mabel rolled her eyes, fixing him with an exasperated stare, “you’ll tell them when you feel ready; now back to your Psychedelic Asshat story,” she said, steering him back to his original rant.

 

Dipper squinted at her in confusion briefly before realization dawned on his face and a look of complete rage split his face.

 

“UGH I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT ABOUT THAT FOR A MOMENT.” He exclaimed, yelling at his spaghetti. “So there’s this guy that always sits next to me in my psych class. And like, always, I try my best to sit somewhere else in the lecture theater, and he’s just...always there. Right. Next. To me. I swear, he’s doing this just for the sole purpose of pissing me off.” He spat.

 

“I bet he likes you.” Mabel muttered slyly while rolling pasta around her fork and glancing at him momentarily.

 

Dipper let out a bark of hysterical laughter as he continued, “And then he brought in a fucking griddle one day, Mabes! A GRIDDLE. HE MADE PANCAKES. FROM SCRATCH. BROUGHT EGGS AND MILK AND FLOUR AND EVERYTHING.”

 

Dipper hesitated to take a deep breath before continuing; “And the worst part about this entire situation is that Professor Henderson is super annoyed and he thinks that I’m involved!”

 

Mabel hummed in thought, “Why don’t you confront this guy? Tell him his cooking offends you, or it’s disrespectful to the class, or whatever. Or better yet, complain to the prof.” Mabel suggested, nodding sagely at Dipper as if confrontation was something he did often and successfully.

 

Dipper sighed, “No, I’m not going to tattle on him, that’s immature; and I wouldn’t even know where to begin if I actually talked to the guy about it…”

 

Mabel stared at him quickly before looking back at her dinner. “You could always tell him that if he’s going to be cooking in class, it could at least be for you…” she muttered.

 

Dipper groaned in exasperation. “Come on Mabes, this is serious. I need this class in order to graduate, and I’ll be shot dead before I let some douche screw me over.”

 

Mable hummed, a tell-tale grin on her face as she winked. Her brother heaved a heavy sigh and looked to the ceiling for some sort of divine guidance.

 

The suspicious stain on the stucco offered no answers.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Dipper tore out of his studio class in record speed, hauled his ass to the lecture theater, and found himself seated an entire seven minutes and thirty-four seconds early for class. He decided that he was going to talk to that jerk and give him a piece of his mind.

 

The clock ticked agonizingly loud at the front of the class as Dipper impatiently waited for the idiot to saunter in and inevitably sit right next to him. Dipper counted five minutes and twenty-six seconds before he saw the guy; taller - almost, but not quite, six feet, olive skin, bleached blonde hair, obnoxiously large scarf, and earth tone sweater. His massive backpack undoubtedly held cooking supplies. It was always the same.

 

He spotted Dipper, eyes brightening as soon as he found him in the large theatre, and he casually sauntered over and heavily dropped his belongings on the desk in front of him, nearly knocking into Dipper’s things. Dipper grunted in irritation and the stranger cackled before scrambling to pick up his bags.

 

“Whoops! My bad, buddy!” He flashed a bright grin at Dipper, before squinting at him momentarily, “I hate to tell you this, kiddo, but you seem to have a good amount of -- what is that, Charcoal? -- on your face!” Dipper’s face split into a look of pure horror and embarrassment. “I sure hope you haven’t been wandering around campus all morning like that!” He joked before cracking into a fit of giggles.

 

Dipper simply glared at the young man as he settled in his seat and turned towards him, extending his hand. “The name’s Bill, by the way. Bill Cipher. Nice to meet’cha!” the young man beamed.

 

Dipper stared at his hand for a moment before cautiously taking it and giving it a firm shake. “Uh, I’m...Dipper.” he mumbled awkwardly.

 

“Ha! Dipper? Seriously? That’s such a dumb name! But I like your hat, so I’m just gonna call you Pine Tree, okay?”

 

Dipper glared at him, mouth hanging open. ““Pine Tree? What the hell is that? And who names someone ‘Bill’ these days?” He spat.

 

Bill gasped gently, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I beg your pardon, Dipper, but Bill is a very dignified and sophisticated name. And your attitude makes you sound like a child.” he said haughtily.

 

Dipper growled, noticing that the class had filled and the professor walked in and set his stuff on the front table, taking his notes out and opening them.

 

Meanwhile, Bill also began unpacking his things, pulling out vegetables and slices of chicken, along with various other ingredients, and a camping stove.

 

At this point, Dipper just gaped and watched as the young man pulled out a skillet and tortillas and began to make fajitas. Bill appeared completely oblivious to Dipper's growing annoyance as class progressed.

 

Eventually, Dipper turned and angrily whispered to him, “Do you honestly have no regard for anyone else in this class?”

 

Mouth full, and face passive, Bill could only mutter a vague “huh?” as he distractedly assembled another fajita.

 

“Look, I’m just saying that’s it’s extremely rude for you to waltz in here with an remarkable amount of cooking material, and make a full-course meal for yourself while the rest of us are sitting in this class starving, so I’d appreciate it if you-”

 

“Here, take this.” Bill interrupts, handing Dipper a dish of still-sizzling fajita. Dipper takes it without breaking his current train of thought, continuing his rant after only the slightest moment of irritated hesitation.

 

“-could just wait until you got home to eat? Or eat before class? I don’t understand why you have to do this here.” Dipper huffed.

 

“Well, Pine Tree,” Bill began as he was dishing out his own meal, “I can tell you that there are a few reasons I enjoy cooking in this class at this particular time; 1) your face turns an impressive shade of red when you get angry enough, 2) your stomach can be heard across campus, I’m sure, and 3) my dogs get very clingy if I cook at home. Man, you should see Gluttony when I’ve got food, he’s like Velcro!” He laughed around his mouthful of food.

 

Dipper gawked at the young man, not even knowing where to begin. “You seriously only do it to piss me off?! Are you fucking me right now?!” Dipper snarled.

 

Bill paused for a moment before cocking his eyebrow and flashing a dazzling grin, “No, but damn, sometimes I wish.” he said, winking.

 

Dipper blushed a furious shade of red as Bill barked out a loud laugh, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. Unfortunately, that included the prof, who slammed his papers on the desk in front of him.  

 

"Alright, I have had it with you two!" He snapped.  

 

"But, I-I..." Dipper could only sputter and stare in horror as the prof glared at him more intensely.

 

Bill was slowly chewing next to him, quiet, but still giggling as Dipper shook in terror in his seat.  

 

"Oooooh, maybe we'll get kicked out of the class. Be forced to take it some other time..." Bill whispered, causing Dipper's eyes to widen in horror. This could not be happening. All he wanted was to get this jerk to stop eating in class and and now he was going through every single worst-case scenario in his mind. For some reason, most ended in uneducated, lonely death. Before he knew it, his panic had swelled and he could barely breathe.

 

"You need a paper bag or something, dude? You're kinda losing it..." Bill whispered cautiously with slight concern. Sure, it was hilarious to see the kid tense and angry, maybe slightly scared, but he was wheezing and clutching his head and even Bill thought he may have gone a bit overboard.

 

* * *

 

Standing outside of the Professor’s office was, by far, one of the most terrifying experiences of Dipper’s life. There had been many, but this took Top 5. He paced back and forth in the hallway, periodically grabbing the wall to ground himself. The panic had not subsided yet, his face was starting to feel numb and his eyes began to prickle with tears. In his left hand he still held that damn fajita.

 

Meanwhile, Bill was seated casually against the wall, nonchalantly chewing another fajita with an expression of pure boredom plastered on his face. “Eh, kid relax! This isn’t so bad!”

 

Dipper whirled around to face him “NOT SO BAD?! I’m- I-I could fail! Oh my god, I could fail and drop out and have to live with my Grunkle or worse, my parents OH MY GOD NOT MY PARENTS-”

 

“Okay, dude, you need to take a chill pill…” Bill said, growing a little wary.

 

“I’M ALL OUT! AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” Dipper shrieked, gesturing wildly.

 

“Woah, Buddy…” Bill mumbled, clearly alarmed now.

 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me, you jackass!” Dipper practically sobbed.

 

At this point, passersby were slowing to observe the two as they bickered, Dipper slowly turning purple as Bill abandoned his half-eaten fajita to move closer to the hysterical boy. “Seriously, dude, you need to breathe, or you’re gonna pass out.”

 

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO-” he wheezed as he clutched the wall, practically heaving.

 

“Jesus Christ kid, you need to get a hold of yourself!” Bill exclaimed as he grabbed a hold of Dipper’s shoulders and shook him lightly. Unable to retort Dipper shot him a glare, the effect lost through watery eyes.

 

"If you two are ready, you can come in now."

 

The two boys turned their attention to their prof, who was leaning against his door with his arms crossed as he watched them.

 

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Bill asked cautiously, quickly releasing Dipper’s shoulders, and wiping his hands on his trousers.

 

“About five minutes or so. Really entertaining stuff; just keep it out of my class. Now get your keisters in here.” He grumbled, unlocking his door and holding it open for them.

 

Dipper furiously scrubbed at his eyes while he slumped through the doorway in sank into one of the chairs. Bill followed after, with an ease that only served to further infuriate both Dipper and their prof. The older man moved to sit in the chair across from them, setting down his bag in slow movements that Dipper was sure were meant to torture him. The clock on his desk ticked by and the silence was only interrupted by the dull pop of the lid on Bill's tupperware container.

 

"Are you kidding me?" Dipper nearly whimpered, seeing the prof raise an eyebrow at the sound.

 

"Well, I figured if this about the food, why not sample the goods? It may change your mind about this whole thing." Bill made to hold the container to their prof, who sported an expression far from impressed. Bill hesitated, but maintained eye contact, squinting slightly, “Soooo, is that a no, or…?”

 

The prof sighed heavily, rolling his eyes and glancing toward Dipper instead. Never in his 24 years as an educator had he seen a kid quite so scared.

 

“M-mr. Henderson, I’m s-sorry, I-I-” The professor cut him off with a raise of his hand, and Dipper clamped his mouth shut and whined quietly.

 

“I’m going to stop you right there, son. I’m not going to fail you or kick you out of my class.” He intoned. Dipper heaved a massive sigh of relief and sagged in chair, releasing his soggy death grip on his now-cold fajita. Bill glanced at it and pouted. “However,” Mr. Henderson continued, “I don’t have the time to babysit you two for a detention, so I’m assigning you 40 hours with Mrs. Henderson.”

 

Dipper stared at the man with wide eyes. “You mean...at the bookstore?” He clarified.

 

Mr. Henderson nodded. “You bet. She’ll decide what to do with you. You’ll need to work together, which will be good practice for the group project I’ll be assigning in a few weeks, not to mention, it will give you plenty of time to think about what you’ve done.”

 

The two boys nodded before standing, both thanking the man before opening the door and letting themselves out.

 

“And dear God, stop eating in my class!” the older man yelled to them, glaring at Dipper and his soggy fajita.

 

“But I-I...this isn’t mine…” Dipper insisted.

 

“Yes it is, I made it for you.” Bill retorted, offended.

 

Mr. Henderson groaned, “Both of you just shut up and get out of my office.”

 

 


	2. Bookstores, Blues, and Bitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first shift together at the bookstore turns out a bit differently than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavens to Betsy, this chapter took a while. Sorry for the late update, but we're both finishing up our semester this week so we've been rather busy. Also, there are no drawings this chapter, but we'll add a few in chapters to come. 
> 
> Anyways, enough chit chat. Enjoy!

“I don’t know what made me think that confronting him would be my best option,” Dipper stated casually as he lounged on Mabel’s couch, both staring at the TV in boredom. “The only thing I got out of that ordeal was detention with the douchebag, a panic attack, and a soggy fajita.” He grumbled.

 

Mabel sighed and glanced at her brother, looking up from a textbook she had been attempting to study for the past hour. She had yet to flip the page, Dipper's random commentary towards the TV was a welcome distraction. “What do you mean you got detention? What happened?” She set her book aside and turned to face him, making herself comfortable for what was likely going to be a long discussion.

 

Dipper adjusted his legs, stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I honestly don’t know how it escalated so quickly,” he continued, “one moment he walks into the class, practically throws his stuff at me, and starts cooking. The next moment I’m in Mr. Henderson’s office, blubbering and I’m assigned detention! I had nothing to do with it!” He snarled, nearly disrupting the bowl of popcorn that sat forgotten in his lap.

 

Mabel shot him an appraising look. She had no doubt that he was blubbering in front of his first year psych prof, but she doubted that he had nothing to do with getting there. Eventually he buckled under her silence and huffed a sigh as he tore his gaze from the tv.

 

“Well, I mean we were a bit loud…” He trailed off with a sheepish expression.

 

“Uh, huh.” Mabel smirked, reading the embarrassed blush spreading over his cheeks as admittance to the entire debacle. “So, how much detention did you land?”

 

“Forty hours at the Bookstore.” Dipper sighed, sinking further into the couch cushions.

 

“Beats sitting in a classroom?” Mabel guessed and Dipper shrugged. She sighed and poked at his leg with her foot, trying to break him out of his sour mood. “Maybe it won’t be so bad, being around tons of books… That’s like, nerd paradise. You’ll fit right in.” She added sagely, hearing a snort of laughter from his direction.

 

“I wonder if I’d get a discount.” Dipper considered, face clearing a bit to match Mabel’s lighter tone.

 

“There’s an idea.” Mabel nodded, grabbing the bowl of popcorn from his lap. She popped one into her mouth as a particularly loud commercial started on the TV, interrupting their train of thought. Dipper seemed to be a bit more relaxed, she considered it a small victory. 

 

* * *

 

The next day, Dipper found himself standing in the entrance to the bookstore, huffing after running from the opposite side of campus. Shuffling over to the main desk, he rang the bell on the counter.

 

Seconds later, a woman appeared from the back room, both her nametag and her stony disposition read 'Helen Henderson.'  She approached the desk and gave Dipper a once over before sighing.

 

"Pines?" She asked, her tone displeased. Dipper gulped.

 

"Uh, yeah. That's me." He answered, shifting his hold on his belongings to wipe his hand on his jeans and hold it out to her. She stared at his paint-splotched hand like one would regard a particularly slobbery child.

 

"Follow me," she huffs and turns. Dipper dropped his hand with a frown and followed close behind her into the back room.

 

“Well, well, well, look what this stunningly beautiful cat dragged in.”

 

Dipper’s eyes flashed to where Bill lounged across a book cart in the middle of the room. He was wearing the most ridiculous sunglasses Dipper had ever seen in his life.  

 

"This needs to be organized by the end of your detention," Mrs. Henderson pointed out the shelves to Dipper, ignoring Bill's comment like she was already used to it, "This side is organized by author's last name, the other side is organized alphabetically by subject." She lifted a well worn binder up from underneath a pile of books. Dipper half expected her to blow the dust off of it like some ancient tome. "Follow the scheme outlined in this, they should all be accounted for and in their proper place." She intoned as Dipper nodded, setting his bags in a nearby chair.

 

"Easy," Bill spoke up again, clasping his hands behind his head and sinking further into the book cart. Mrs. Henderson glanced briefly at him before rolling her eyes and leaving the room.

 

Dipper, removed his coat and set it aside with his other belongings and took another look around the room. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

 

"So," Dipper started, hefting the binder into his arms, turning to address Bill as he leafed through the pages. "if we break this down into sections, I think we could..." He trailed off as he looked up to find that Bill had not moved since Mrs. Henderson had left the room. In the couple seconds of silence, a soft snore could be heard.

 

"You have got to be kidding me." After a brief moment of stunned surprise, Dipper turned and dropped the binder onto the table. It landed with a satisfying slam that caused the other boy to yelp in surprise as he tumbled off of the cart and onto the cold, hard, unforgiving tiled floor.

 

"What gives, Pine Tree?" Bill whined from behind him, the cart squeaking as is it rolled away. Bill sat up and rubbed his head, pouting as he stared at Dipper. The boy simply rolled his eyes in response and grabbed the binder again.

 

“Seriously, dude, we need to get to work here. I have way too many assignments due next week and I really don’t need this taking up any more of my time.” Dipper huffed. Bill’s gaze had wandered, and he appeared to have lost interest once again. He flopped back down on the ground, staring at the ceiling as he whined.

 

Dipper sighed heavily as he began his work on the first section, pulling books from the pile and arranging them by author’s last name before putting them on the shelf, doing his best to ignore the blond laying on the floor behind him.

 

“This is so boring,” he complained, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes. “I’m going to get home late, and I should be feeding my dogs right now…” he trailed off, grumbling.

 

Dipper growled as he set another book on the shelf. “You aren’t even doing anything!”

 

Bill merely shrugged and didn’t move from his spot on the floor. Dipper groaned and just decided to ignore him.

 

* * *

 

An hour and twenty-seven minutes had passed before Bill cleared his throat. “So...Tell me about yourself, Pinetree!” He asked somewhat awkwardly while standing up. Dipper sat surrounded by what he hoped was the entirety of the books whose Author’s last name began with ‘A’, while Bill sat on a nearby table and scratched the back of his neck.

 

Dipper sighed, shooting an unimpressed glare in Bill’s direction. “Seriously? Small talk?” He huffed. “How about you just get over here and help me? Maybe do some work for the first time in your life…” He trailed off, grumbling.

 

"Now now, is that an way to treat a fellow employee? How are we supposed to develop an effective work environment with that attitude?" Bill snarked half heartedly, the fight seemed to be bleeding from his expression as he checked the time again.

 

"Worried about your dog?" Dipper decided to throw the other a bone, running out of sarcasm himself.

 

“Dogs.” Bill corrected. “Seven, actually.” He stated proudly, as though he was talking about seven of his children.

 

“Seven?!” Dipper sputtered, flabbergasted. “How do you have enough time for that?!”

 

“Well, usually I don’t have detention.” Bill retorted haughtily. This surprised Dipper, to say the least. Reading his expression, Bill continued, “But if you must know, one always makes time for his children,” he said with a wink.

 

Dipper continued to stare at him in disbelief, trying to imagine the boy in front of him with seven dogs. His interest was captured, and he found himself wanting to know a bit more. “Are they all the same breed?”

 

Bill beamed, glad that he had caught the other boy’s attention, nodding enthusiastically as he scooted closer to Dipper. “Yes, they are all Pembroke Welsh Corgis, and they are my babies!”

 

Dipper was taken aback by the flourish of energy the other young man suddenly possessed. He snorted, thinking about how funny it would look to see this kid walking down the street with seven corgis around him. Stacking a few more books on the almost-complete shelf, Dipper cracked a smile as he looked at Bill again. “So, what are their names?”

 

Bill gasped gently, clearing his throat and holding his hands up as he began to number off his dogs. “OKAY, so Sloth is the oldest and the laziest and sleeps about 16 hours a day; Pride is my little beauty, he’s my show dog and we snuggle on the couch together watching the dog shows and talk shit about everyone that can’t do anything right; Wrath is my little ball of rage and he eats all the shoes and homework and he barks at the birds on the balcony; Gluttony is my little fatty, and he eats everything in sight and he always has that sad puppy face when you’re eating something and it would be really annoying if it weren’t so cute…” he stopped to take a deep breath as Dipper gaped, “Greed steals all of the toys and hoards them in his little corner behind the sofa; Envy is my jealous little girl who is always begging for attention or crying if nobody's playing with her; and finally, Lust is my tiniest precious angel and she’s the diva.” He finished, grinning at Dipper with the goofiest smile.

 

Dipper couldn't help but smile as well, his eyebrow raised. It was baffling to see that this guy, of all people, was so compassionate towards anything.

 

"Do you have any pets?" Bill asked enthusiastically, squirming slightly to get more comfortable on his stack of books.

 

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, looking away. "Not really; I mean Mabel had a pig when we were younger, but never any dogs or cats..." He noticed Bill wrinkle his nose in slight disgust at the mention of cats, but chose to ignore the gesture.

 

"Really? You had a pig, but seven dogs is strange to you?" Bill chuckled, lightly slapping Dipper on the shoulder. " But no seriously, I need more info on this."

 

Dipper lightly rubbed his shoulder, chuckling as well as he pulled his phone out and started scrolling through the photos. "His name was Waddles, and he really liked potatoes."

 

Bill gave him a severe look, before lightly shaking his head. "That is the most precious thing I have ever heard in my entire life." He enunciated, through clenched teeth.

 

Dipper stared at him, slightly fearful, before laughing lightly and passing Bill his phone, a picture of him and Mabel when they were 13, between them was a small pig. "He grew to be about four times that size. He was huge."

 

Bill looked up, his face beaming, before noticing something about the picture. Squinting his eyes, he carefully asked, "Is that the same freaking hat?"

 

Dipper snatched his phone out of Bill's grasp, cheeks tinting pink slightly as Bill guffawed. Just as he navigated to check his messages, ignoring Bill's giggles in the process, a cold voice cut through the room.

 

"On your phone and slacking off, Pines?" Mrs. Henderson's face was set in a sneer, one perfect eyebrow raised in disdain.

 

Both boys stared at her, eyes wide and bodies frozen. She sighed, rolling her eyes as she turned her back to them and walking out of the room.

 

"You're both dismissed, by the way. Go home." She called back to them.

 

Both boys stared at her for a brief moment before looking at one another and shuffling to grab their things. Dipper put the last few books on the shelf.

 

Bill patted him on the back and said "See you tomorrow, Pine Tree!" before sprinting out of the room, down the hall, and out of the building.

 

Dipper watched his retreating figure before leaving the room himself. On his way out, he gave Mrs. Henderson a wave, who returned the gesture with a nod.

  
He considered it progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for the next chapter~!
> 
> For more corgis and debauchery, follow us on tumblr
> 
> http://baebot.tumblr.com/  
> http://renegade-lemon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also, follow our combined blog  
> http://chipflicks.tumblr.com/


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